The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(51)

“Well, you’re pissing me off. Get out.”

“I’m already fucking leaving,” he barks.

“Go and have a massage today, you big sleazebag.”

He shakes his head in disgust. “You know what? You’re perfect for this fake news job. This drama thing is right up your alley.” He throws his shirt over his head and then sits on the bed to put his shoes on.

Rage fills me, and I pick up one of his shoes and throw it to the other side of the room.

“So tough,” he huffs.

I narrow my eyes as fury boils in my blood. “Yeah, like your Chloe’s vagina. How many clients does she fuck each week?”

“She isn’t my Chloe.”

“You know what? Make her your Chloe, because I have no intention of taking her sloppy seconds.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you sleep with me and only me, or you get out of my life.”

He puts his hands on his hips in outrage. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“Good. There’s my answer. Get out.”

“You know what? This little Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing you’ve got going on here is a real turnoff.”

“And your overshared dick isn’t?” I shriek. “You’re an insult to my intelligence, Jameson. Go home to your fancy apartment in your fancy car and have sex with whoever you want.” I wrap my robe around me in disgust. “I’m too good for you anyway.”

He glares at me. “Why are you such a fucking bitch?”

“Because you’re a self-centered asshole. Get the hell out!” I scream. I pick up a pillow and throw it at him.

He brushes past me in a rush. “Nobody treats me as bad as you do, Emily!” he yells as he storms toward the door.

“Because you pay them!” I screech. “Good thing you’ve got lots of money, Jameson. You’re going to need it. Nobody would put up with your shit for free.”

He turns and glares at me. “That’s a low blow.”

I fake a smile. “Have a nice life, asshole.” I turn and walk into my bathroom and lock the door.

Screw him.





Chapter 11

I turn the spoon upside down, put it into my mouth, and suck the Nutella from it as I stare at the television.

It’s four in the afternoon, I’m still in my pajamas, and I’ve had a shitty day. After I woke up in a dream lying next to the most gorgeous man on the planet, Jameson Miles the asshole CEO decided to make an appearance and ruined everything.

To be honest, I’m regretting not going to his place for breakfast, but then, on the other hand, I’m glad I didn’t because I wouldn’t have found out about Chloe, his masseuse.

They fuck.

I hate that it bothers me. I hate that I can feel myself getting attached to him when he clearly isn’t feeling the same.

I dig into my jar of Nutella again. The smooth chocolate melts on my tongue, offering a momentary distraction.

I stare at the television in a daze, a horror movie. My favorite rom-com category is scratched from the viewing repertoire. My mind goes back to the first time I met Jameson, when he told me that he didn’t believe rom-coms were true.

Maybe he was on to something? Maybe I’m just a romantic fool?

Does he have feelings for Chloe? Who cares? He’s an asshole.

I need to cut this out. Stop thinking about him. He’s a self-absorbed player who sleeps with whoever he wants, whenever he wants. I look around my shitty apartment, and sadness fills me. If he liked me, it wouldn’t matter where we were—he would want to spend time with me regardless. But he couldn’t get out of here quick enough.

My mind goes over our fight this morning.

“Nobody treats me as bad as you do, Emily.”

“Because you pay them. Good thing you’ve got lots of money, Jameson. You’re going to need it. Nobody would put up with your shit for free.”

“That’s a low blow.”

Did I go too far? Was it a low blow? Probably, but what does he expect? And I can’t believe that nobody treats him as badly as I do. If he treats other women the way he treats me, surely they wouldn’t put up with it? Nobody is that stupid . . . are they?

“I’m not looking for a relationship.”

I punch the pillow on my lap in disgust. Six words have never made me feel so cheap.

Monday morning, I ride in the elevator to the top floor. We scheduled this meeting last week so that I could meet the private investigator, but it’s the last thing I want to do now.

I want to forget Jameson Miles, forget I ever met beautiful Jim . . . or Jay, or whatever the heck I’m supposed to call him. I’ve come to the realization that they’re a package deal, and unfortunately, I can’t have Jim without Jameson, even though it’s only Jim I want. So I’m doing what’s best for me. I’m cutting ties; I’m not falling into the pattern of sleeping with Jameson without strings in the hope that I get a glimpse of Jim every now and then.

It would be easy . . . too easy.

But I already know my poor heart couldn’t take it. I’m not wired for casual sex.

It’s just not who I am.

I’m going to be professional and try to concentrate on my job. If I didn’t have to see him, it would be so much easier, but it is what it is. I need to learn to deal with it. He’s not going anywhere, and I really want this job.